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1,000 Word worth:2017-24

On Friday, I like to take an ordinary photo of something I’ve seen during the week and create a bit of flash fiction. I call it 1,000 words worth, because, you know, a picture is worth…. For more information, click here.

Last night, as I fell asleep, a memory from 1st grade came crashing in full Technicolor into my consciousness. It’s been on my mind all day. So.. Here goes. A bit of flash fiction from a memory pop. I’ll leave it to you to decipher which parts are memory and which are fiction.

Betty karate chopped the clenched fist that Connie and Monty shared.
"He's my boyfriend," Betty's scalp reddened underneath her ponytail.
"We were just," Connie flipped her hair with her freed hand as if it was her idea to separate from Monty. She rolled her eyes toward Monty.
Monty studied the hole in his left Keds sneaker. He poked the sock covering his big toe through and wiggled it.

Her Gingham skirt flew up over her shoulders showing off ruffled underpants. Connie let out an almost silent grunt before she yanked Betty's ponytail, log-rolling them through the dirt.
That's when the weapons came out. Betty clawed and Connie bit. To Monty, it seemed like forever and at the same like a frozen instant passed before Mrs. Teideman's old-lady shoes appeared beside the girls. A cloud of dust ruined her spit-shine before she bent to intervene.
Mrs. Teideman was a practical woman of few words and plenty of wisdom. She didn't bother to ask what or who started the tussle.
Connie held out her arm, "She made me bleed." Her face lemoned up and big crocodile tears rolled down her cheeks. Mrs. Teideman put a finger to the girl's lips to shush her.
"There a plenty of corners for everyone," she said. "And plenty of recess time to think about what you've both done." The only thing that betrayed her anger was an almost inaudible click at the back of her throat.
Mrs. Teideman tuned to Monty. "Go wash your face. You still have butterscotch pudding from lunch stuck to the corner of your lips."
Monty shrugged, turned, and headed for the washroom, without touching his mouth, or sticking out his tongue to remove the offending pudding.

I don’t have a real photo that inspired this story. So here’s a picture of the 1st grade me.